


In the Arms of Sleep

by BakerKeen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexsomnia, Sexual Assault, Sleep Sex, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerKeen/pseuds/BakerKeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has sexsomnia. Things get interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Arms of Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TAGS! There is a brief description of a sexual assault in this fic.

John rolled over and adjusted his pillow with a yawn, trying to eke out a few more minutes of sleep before he admitted it was morning. He opened his eyes for just a moment, confirming that he was alone in the bed again. He felt a pang of disappointment along with a rush of relief. When Sherlock laid down in his bed last night, his main concern had been the potential awkwardness of hiding their morning erections (although it seemed that wouldn't have been an issue for him this morning, regardless). Of course, that concern had been rather overwhelmed by his nightmare-induced panic attack. John stretched, groaning against his sore muscles. He must've been wound up like a spring during his nightmare. Finally giving up the ghost, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He retrieved his T-shirt from the floor -- the bed must've gotten too warm with Sherlock under the covers -- and slid it on, along with a pair of jeans before padding downstairs. 

John stumbled past Sherlock, who was hunched over the kitchen table, looking into a microscope at God-knows-what. "Oh, you made coffee already, thank God." He poured himself a cup and took a long swallow. "Need a refill?" Sherlock murmured something that might have been assent, so John brought the pot over to the table and poured some in Sherlock's mug. He squinted at the slide. "That's not toxic, is it?" 

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes before taking a sip of his coffee. 

John patted Sherlock's shoulder somewhat awkwardly. "Hey, thanks for last night, mate." His presence last night had helped him calm down a lot faster than normal; once his panic subsided, he had crashed hard and slept like the dead, confident that he was safe with Sherlock's reassuring weight next to him. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I calculated a 60% chance that you would pretend it never happened." 

John chuckled. "I definitely considered that option, but figured there was no point." 

Sherlock nodded. "Rational. How very unlike you," he drawled, still not looking up from his microscope. "But I'm glad. Now that it's out in the open we can discuss whether it was an experience that bears repeating."

John regarded Sherlock for a moment. From the way Sherlock's eyes were darting and the tension in his shoulders, he seemed more nervous than John. "I'd definitely be open to it," he said. "It was nice."

Sherlock finally looked up from his microscope. " _Nice,_ " he repeated flatly.

John cocked his head, not sure where he'd gone wrong. "Yes? It was nice. Comforting," he elaborated. 

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. " _Comforting_?? I thought it was bloody fantastic."

Well, that was a weird description for his panic attack. "What are you talking about?"

"What are _you_ talking about?" Sherlock spun in his chair to face John directly, wincing as his weight shifted. 

Realization dawned. _Oh, God,_ John thought. _NoNoNoNoNoNo._ He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping fervently that when he opened them he would awake in his bed. He opened them again and saw Sherlock's stricken face. "Sherlock, I --"

"You don't remember." Sherlock scratched his neck nervously. "How do you not remember? You don't delete things." 

"I was sleeping," John answered quietly.

"You _initiated_ it," Sherlock shot back. "You kissed me awake, undressed me, and had a finger halfway inside me before I even started kissing you back." John winced at that, but Sherlock kept going. "I had to get you to slow down long enough to find the ... lube." Sherlock faltered. "Oh my God, you were asleep."

John's face was beet red. "I'm so, so sorry, Sherlock. I usually warn people if we're going to share a room, much less a bed, but I was in such a state last night that I forgot." He ran his hands through his hair. "Shit, I haven't had an episode in a really long time." 

"Episode?" Sherlock's voice was sharp.

John sighed. "It's a parasomnia, like walking or talking in your sleep." 

"Sexsomnia," Sherlock said, curiosity in his voice. "Often triggered by stress. How on earth did you make it through Afghanistan?"

John smiled sadly. "A combination of clonazepam and very understanding bunkmates. It was a running joke, of course, but I only had a few episodes that anyone mentioned to me." It had been horrible, never knowing for sure. Usually he woke up with the evidence all over himself, and that was humiliating enough. Shaking himself from his reverie, he said, "I'm a little surprised you didn't just deck me when I came on to you."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. "Why would I hit you?" 

John stared at him with his _bit-obvious-isn't-it?_ expression, but Sherlock merely stared back. "Christ, you're going to make me say it. We're friends, Sherlock. Shagging changes things. Besides, I thought you were asexual."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Really, John, even you are not that blind. You noticed me staring at your biceps just last week." 

John remembered. He'd just gotten home from a run and had peeled off his sweatshirt as soon as he'd walked in the door. The T-shirt underneath was damp from sweat and sticking to him uncomfortably. When he straightened up from untying his trainers, he caught Sherlock averting his gaze from his arms guiltily. "Well, who could blame you?" John teased, trying to laugh the whole thing off. "Just because you appreciate someone else's body doesn't mean you want to shag them. I've admired your long neck before; doesn't mean I've been fantasizing about you."

Sherlock huffed a laugh. "Your subconscious betrays you." He unfastened a few buttons and pulled his collar back to reveal several bitemarks and bright purple bruises. 

John flushed. "Christ, I'm sorry. That's mortifying."

Sherlock shrugged as he tugged his collar back into place, covering nearly all of the marks. "No reason. It was entirely mutual." He rolled his eyes when John pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Shall I just delete the whole thing, then?"

John considered which was the least horrifying of the possible outcomes. Either Sherlock could have very vivid memories of an apparently spectacular lay, or John could feel awkward while Sherlock grew more confused. "Best not. You'd probably just deduce it again, anyway. And this way, you know, so you won't be taken off-guard if it happens again." Sherlock nodded his agreement and John fled the room the moment the conversation was over. 

\------------------

Of course, Sherlock was unable to leave it alone, because he had no bloody boundaries. When John came home from Tesco, Sherlock was sitting in his chair with a manic gleam in his eye. "John! Are most of your episodes masturbatory or partnered?"

"My God, can you at least let me get the door shut before you start?" He closed it quickly and carried the grocery bags to the kitchen table. "You know this is actually none of your business."

Sherlock smirked. "Masturbatory, then?" John sighed and attempted to ignore him, but Sherlock was not deterred. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Everybody wanks. How often?" John shot him an incredulous look. "While you're asleep, I mean. I already know about when you're awake."

John glared at him. "The polite thing is to pretend you don't notice, Sherlock. BOUNDARIES." Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but John forestalled him. "Alright, alright. I mean, it varies. As you said, stress is a big trigger, as is being overtired. So when we're on an important case and we're going long days and nights to solve it, it's more likely to happen." He started putting groceries away as he talked. "Not all the time, though, maybe half? And then it seems to happen more when I first start dating someone, for some reason."

Sherlock was clearly fascinated. "Because your arousal state is high, of course. I've been researching. Clonazepam helped?"

John nodded. "Yes, it definitely helped decrease the frequency of my episodes, although it was harder to wake me up from them when they happened. I've noticed that it happens less when I'm more physically active. So, even though I was highly stressed while in the Army, I didn't have anywhere near as many episodes as I did during my med school. That was definitely the peak."

Sherlock nodded as though that made sense. "Do you ever wake up in the middle an episode?"

John shuffled a bag of eyeballs over to make room for the milk on a low shelf. "Gads, that's disgusting. Yes, I wake up about half the time if it's just me." He thought for a moment about the times it'd happened with partners or in the barracks. "And I usually wake up if I'm with someone. Or at least I assume I do, clearly I can't always tell. Probably more like a 75% wake up rate with partners. Usually I wake up as I'm nearing orgasm, or if something jolts me -- a loud sound, or an unexpected movement, or pain, something like that." A quizzical look passed over Sherlock's face but John kept going. "Now that I'm out of the Army it's _usually_ not a problem, because I don't share a bed with someone unless we're already having sex. Now can we _please_ move on?"

Sherlock nodded and went back to his computer, but John had a feeling he hadn't heard the last of it. 

\-------------------------

A week later, John woke himself up groaning in desire and thrusting into the hot, wet suction on his cock. After a moment of confused wakefulness, he raised his head from the pillow and looked down to see his fingers tangled in Sherlock's curls. Pulling sharply and shoving him away, John sat up and pulled his pants back up. "What the actual FUCK, Sherlock?!?!?!?!?!?"

Sherlock grinned. "Eight minutes, John! That's outstanding! I wasn't sure it would work as well with me initiating." 

John was shaking. "What the hell do you think you're doing??" 

Sherlock sprang up, eager to expound. "I was observing whether you would sleep through a sexual encounter that was initiated by someone else given the same parameters that usually cause an episode. We've been on this kidnapping case for two days and ..." Sherlock trailed off, observing John's clenched, shaking form. "You're angry. You said it wasn't a problem if this happened with people you've already had sex with, and we've already done this. Well, _you've_ sucked _me_ off, anyway."

The effort it took John not to punch Sherlock actually pained him. "Sherlock, I never agreed to have sex with you."

Sherlock waved this off, gesturing at John's barely-flagging erection. "You were very enthusiastic about it." John glared at his penis as though it had betrayed him and scrambled to pull on a pair of sweatpants. Sherlock smirked. "Besides, you've been wanting to have sex with me for days. You keep thinking about initiating something and then changing your mind."

"All of which is _completely_ besides the fucking point. I can't stop my body from reacting to physical stimuli, and you never asked me if it would be OK to go down on me in my sleep."

Sherlock was aghast. "Of course not! That would skew the data."

John shoved him and couldn't keep from shouting. "You absolute WANKER. Listen to me. I put up with a hell of a lot for your bloody experiments, but I draw the line at ..." He trailed off, but Sherlock startled as though he had said it aloud. "I can't talk to you in here," John continued. "Go make some tea and I'll be there in a minute. Sherlock looked for a long second like he might protest, but he flicked his eyes over John once more and seemed to think better of it.

Needing something to do, John made his bed, pulling it into military creases as he mulled over what had just happened. It's not that he'd never imagined being with Sherlock in that way, but to come into his room, his safe space, and just take what he needed from him? He'd have to buy a deadbolt for his door; Sherlock knew how to pick the lock on the doorknob. He pulled the duvet tight and smoothed his pillow, making sure there were no wrinkles. Sherlock was a naive guy, in many ways; John thought he had less intended to take advantage of him than he had not thought outside his own perspective to consider how John might feel. He decided to hop in the shower, to wash Sherlock off of him before going downstairs. He scrubbed himself, distracting his thoughts into making sure every part of him had been properly scrubbed and rinsed, until the raging in his head quieted and he was able to breath properly again. He toweled off brutally and changed into fresh lounge clothes before finally facing Sherlock.

Tea was sitting on the coffee table and Sherlock was sitting in his wingback chair, crease furrowing his brow but sitting straight up in it. He might've looked to be waiting comfortably if he wasn't absently rubbing a thumb over the seam on the seat cushion. Seeing John notice, he frowned and moved his hand to rest on his knee, watching as John sunk into the chair opposite him. "You've already showered this evening," Sherlock observed. 

"Fancied another one," John replied evenly. Sherlock's frown tightened fractionally. John sighed. "Do you understand why I'm angry with you?"

Sherlock's face warred with itself for a long moment before he began speaking. "No," he finally admitted. "I mean, yes, I know you think it was wrong of me to fellate--"

"--please don't call it that."

"-- you without securing your permission first. But I don't understand why you're so upset. You have been thinking about it ever since your episode, and your body responded very positively. It's unlike you to get caught up in semantics like this."

John breathed slowly through his nose and held it a moment before exhaling and responding. "OK. You know what I know _you've_ been thinking about a good bit lately? Heroin. You've been bored lately; before this kidnapping case, we were going on a month with nothing higher than a 6. You haven't decided to do it, of course, but you moved your works recently so you've been getting it out just to look at it. And I just know you'd love it. So would it have been OK if I'd shot you up while you were sleeping? Just a pleasant surprise, yes?"

Sherlock looked simultaneously thunderstruck and slightly proud at John's deduction. He was silent for a full 30 seconds. Finally he looked John in the eye. "Did I sexually assault you?"

John squared his shoulders against the fear he could see lurking behind Sherlock's eyes. "Yes, mate. Touching someone's genitals while they're asleep without their prior spoken consent is sexual assault. Even if you think they want it, and even if it's for science." Sherlock seemed to deflate in front of him, but John soldiered through; it was important to drive this point thoroughly home. "If you ever pull something like that again, I'm moving out. I shouldn't have to deadbolt my own bedroom at night so it feels safe."

Sherlock flinched but held John's gaze. "I thought you'd wake up immediately and it would be exciting and impulsive and ... like it was for me, with your episode. But then you didn't wake up but you were _responding_ and I got caught up in the experiment." 

The unspoken apology hung between them, and John nodded his acceptance. "Rules --."

Sherlock's interruption was automatic. "Rules are tedious."

John arched an eyebrow at him. "Sex rules are non-negotiable after that stunt you just pulled. You can't have exciting and impulsive if we're not communicating about where the boundaries are." Frank surprise shot across Sherlock's face before a pleased smile took over. "I think we can both agree that our hooking up was inevitable, right?" 

Sherlock huffed a laugh through his nose, and they talked through rules and expectations and what-ifs for the next half hour. Finally, when it seemed they had come to an agreement, Sherlock blurted out, "Can I kiss you?"

John gave him a long look and shook his head. "Mood's shot for tonight, I'm afraid. Try me again after you find the kidnapper tomorrow."

As predicted, Sherlock had cracked the case wide open the following day and had been absolutely buoyant when the kidnapper was dragged off in handcuffs. He hailed a taxi and pulled John into it, shouting vague promises about paperwork to Lestrade over his shoulder. They tumbled inside, smiling giddily, and Sherlock leaned in, raising his eyebrows and waiting. John realized that he had stuffed them into the cab in order to satisfy John's rule about PDA in front of Lestrade et al. He nodded and Sherlock rushed in with a crush of teeth and lips. John opened his mouth to tease a lick inside Sherlock's mouth, and was rewarded with a quiet hiss of "yessss" and then they were overtly snogging in the back of a taxi. After a minute or two, John pulled back, a little winded and nodded his head toward the driver to remind Sherlock that they were not alone. Sherlock didn't look like he cared at all about public displays of affection but he settled for resting his hand just a little too high up on John's thigh, lightly rubbing with his long fingers and giving John significant looks. John had to laugh and looked out the window for the remainder of the drive home. 

\-----------------

That night, John woke up to the sensation of Sherlock kissing his neck and pinching his nipples. He groaned loudly, arching his back and swearing quietly. 

Sherlock worked his way back to John's mouth, making direct eye contact and waiting a moment for John to look fully awake. "John," Sherlock purred and oh god, his voice was like liquid sex; John's cock leapt. "What is 6x8?"

"Too easy," John murmured. "I can do that one automatically."

Sherlock smiled against his mouth and bit John's lower lip; the smaller man shivered. "In that case," he slid a tongue over the bite mark. "What's the square root of 121?" 

John's thought stuttered as Sherlock rolled his nipples in time with a swirl of his tongue. "Better. Is it ... it's 11, right? Yeah, 11." 

"You," Sherlock said between kisses, dropping his voice into a silky baritone. "Get a gold star." God, he made it sound filthy. Sherlock dropped back down to resume his work on John's neck. Had Sherlock deduced his most sensitive spots, or discovered them during his episode? His breath hitched and he once again felt Sherlock's smile. Sherlock was ghosting his fingertips over John's ribs, nipples, and chest, providing a shivery counterpoint to the soft nips on his neck and shoulders. John shifted his weight, trying to subtly adjust himself, antsy for Sherlock to explore. Sherlock responded almost immediately by trailing his mouth down John's torso, applying firm suction to his nipples, grazing his teeth across his ribs, swirling his tongue in his navel. 

Finally, he reached the waistband of John's pyjama pants, running his fingers and then his tongue lightly under the waistband before looking up at John and waiting. "God, yes, get them off," John growled. Sherlock pulled them over John's hips and then smirked up at him -- no pants. John grinned and wagged his eyebrows, lifting so Sherlock could shimmy them over his bum. 

Sherlock considered John's cock for a long moment, then began swirling light fingertips against his hips and belly, grazing down to his thighs. John hardened further in anticipation, but the touch didn't come. "This is strange," Sherlock admitted. "Having it be your first time and my second." He brushed John's bollocks with the backs of his fingers; John dropped his head back in frustration. "Although, this is new. You weren't much on foreplay, just sort of ... _conquered_." He licked a stripe up John's shaft and heard a groan come from the top of the bed. "Not that I'm complaining, mind. It was sexy. Captain Watson, taking command." He tongued John's slit, lapping up a bead of moisture there. "But I think a little exploration is valuable, too." 

John squeezed his eyes shut, trying to even his breathing and relish the sensations. He actually loved being left on the edge for awhile, but that didn't make it absolute torture. The tongue disappeared and John sighed his frustration, only to have the air hitch in his throat when a warm, humid air wafted across his shaft. Dry lips brushed up his shaft and puckered a soft kiss against his tip. A soft tongue slid under his foreskin to flutter at his head. Then Sherlock's mouth closed around him and John surged up to meet him. Sherlock held his hips firmly against the mattress and swirled his tongue around him as he bobbed up and down, applying just the right suction to hold John right at the edge of orgasm without pushing him over. John stilled his hips and panted helplessly. "Please," John finally pleaded. "More, I'm so close." Sherlock picked up the pace fractionally and moved one of his hands to follow his mouth's path on John's cock, and everything coalesced. He shouted a warning and then spilled into Sherlock's mouth with a silent scream. 

"Fucking hell," John swore reverently as Sherlock kissed his way up his body again. "That was ..." 

"Agreed," murmured Sherlock against his lips. He showered light kisses on John's face, letting him come down from his orgasm for a few minutes before pressing his neglected cock against John's thigh in gentle reminder. 

"Mmm, sorry, got a bit lost there for a moment." John rolled on his side to face Sherlock, pulling slowly on the his drawstring and waiting for Sherlock's nod of approval before slipping his hand inside. Sherlock tipped his head back, exposing that glorious neck with the faintest of marks still visible. John considered sucking another one, higher up where everyone could see, but decided that he wanted to watch all of Sherlock's reactions instead. He liked firmer pressure than John, but shorter strokes. His face was beautifully expressive when he was aroused, all bitten lips and rolled-back eyes and slack-jawed moans. John pulled his hand up to spit on it and Sherlock's sharp eyes and helpless whimper made John chuckle and hold the hand up to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in lust for a moment and he leaned forward a few centimeters to add his own saliva. John returned the hand to Sherlock and the man's eyes rolled back in his head as an open-throated moan seemed to be ripped from him. A few quick strokes later and he was crying out, spraying into John's hand before collapsing back on the mattress. 

John wiped his hand on his abandoned T-shirt and tossed it to Sherlock to mop up the bit that had gotten on his belly. "That was incredible," he said as he climbed back in beside Sherlock. "Don't you dare let me sleep through that ever again." 

Sherlock chuckled. "You're very different when you're awake, I must say." 

John rolled on his side, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's shoulder. "Oh, Captain Watson can always come out to play. I just don't usually lead with him." 

Sherlock smirked. "You should reconsider that. Captain Watson made a very compelling case for further encounters." He leaned his head against John's. "Don't deny the fine men and women of the world of a first-time experience with _Le Capitaine_." 

John elbowed him. "Don't think anyone else is going to have the joy anytime soon, you berk." They smiled at each other, pressed in for a soft kiss, wrapped around each other, and fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Sexsomnia is a real sleep disorder and is (I hope!) faithfully depicted here. Consent is a very tricky thing where sleep sex is concerned; this story is very loosely inspired by my own experiences. Read more about the disorder here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep_sex
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Please feel free to leave concrit and/or let me know if you see any errors. :)


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